Stacy and the Goodbar

Although, this can serve as a model for you, it is far from perfect. I encourage you to emulate what you see. Take the best of the style and incorporate it into your writing. The length of the moment is about right. Notice any details that you like. Think about the voice. Feel free to TAG my writing below, because it is never perfect and I can use advice too.

Stacy and the Goodbar

    Something struck me as strange, all of a sudden. Somehow, I knew that I was being watched. I disengaged from the hilarious story my brother was telling mid-laugh and looked to the left. Sure enough, there were two beady, little, round eyes staring right back at me, well maybe not right at my face, but definitely in my direction. Attempting to see the object that Stacy was ogling, I looked downward. When my eyes landed on the small bag of Hershey’s Miniatures my brother was holding in between us, I knew I had figured it out.

     Wherever there was food, Stacy was usually nearby with her grubby little paws at the ready. Most of the time she was able to swoop in and wrap her talons around her prey before the victim was aware his snack was even gone. Not this time, vulture! I'm onto you! I shall have that last tasty morsel of chocolate, not you! Your thieving ways shall soon be thwarted!

    Memories of past friends who had fallen victim to this snack snatcher flooded my mental archive, bolstering my cognizance, and prepping my reaction time for this very moment. Laura’s lost bag of Funyons, Vanessa’s Skittles, and Donny’s Cheeze-its had all been consumed in a cyclone of greed and gluttony called Hurricane Stacy.

     Perhaps witnessing the great stand-off over Martha’s disco fries best prepared me. It was after the fall production when we all ventured to the Forum diner for the default endcap to such an event. While everyone was busy sharing stories of nearly missed entrances and flubbed lines, Stacy presumptuously reached across the table to pluck the cheesiest fry from the top of a brown-gravy drenched pile, but Martha was too quick. She quickly smacked back the encroaching claw and shouted her down. “Eww, what are you doing?! Don’t touch my fries!” Out of fear for being permanently outed, the would be thief recoiled. Not a drop of gravy was lost nor a string of mozzarella cheese devoured, and I was now empowered with epiphany. Years of wondering how my snack had so quickly dissipated without offering any satisfaction, were offered an answer. I had brought them in order to stave off hunger pains though play rehearsal, yet my stomach never had a chance to be satiated! There was a thief, an interloper in my private snack sanctuary. I fell victim to a nosh ninja! Today, it ended.

    As my brother continued his story of unfortunate events, rattling on about our mother on a rollercoaster, I held a vigilant watch. I noticed her as she noticed the bag of treats get lighter, our friends each enjoying their favorite flavor. There were only a few left, then just one. It was a Mr. Goodbar, my favorite. It would be mine, oh yes; it would be mine, or it would offer just sacrifice. I called upon my acting skills to hold up the air that I was thoroughly invested in my brother’s tale. Stacy looked on as Laura laughed, Donny chuckled, and I giggled along in feigned interest.

     Like a panther stalking its prey through the trees along the mighty Amazon, she moved through the seats of the auditorium unnoticed by all, except one. She was unaware that the hunter had now become the hunted. As the others had their fill of sweets and became lost in the calamity of our mother spewing profanity on a roller coaster, Stacy closed in.

     Just as she arrived in the neighboring row, and her eyes locked on the dually desired treasure, I faked a lunge toward the bag. Out of panic-stricken fear for losing the object of her ravenous desire, she frantically leapt forward. Her lunge was far bigger and noticeable than mine. The entirety of her small, pear-shaped frame practically flew over the remaining theatre seat that lay obstacle and pounced on the prize. Her hands almost maniacally seized the bag in a crinkly fury of loosed obsession. My brother’s audience also leapt, in utter, honest fear. Donny landed clumsily in Laura’s arms. Startled screams of surprise echoed through the auditorium. I forced a surprised look across my countenance as Stacy’s face hung low in chocolate guilt. I could swear that there was a yellow wrapper hanging from her incisors. As she panted heavily in gasps of guilt, I tried to hold back the vengeful smile forcing its way across my face. Alas, I could not. "Ha!" Although I did not taste chocolatey goodness that day, I knew my food of the future had found safe passage. Plus, it was just plain funny!

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